


Just Like a Real Boy

by TheVioletHour (TinternAbbey)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Crack, Inanimate Objects, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 09:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinternAbbey/pseuds/TheVioletHour
Summary: "Eames, why do you have a sex doll that looks exactly like Arthur?"





	Just Like a Real Boy

One fine day, an outrageously wealthy man named Saito decided his life was lacking something: he simply did _not_ have enough classy hotels in his possession. He was going to look like a laughingstock if he attended next month's International Rich Bitches Convention and Gary Bergleding (his American arch-enemy) discovered that Saito owned only one hundred and thirty-seven hotels. It was unthinkable!

So, like any good bazillionaire, Saito decided to remedy this grievous problem by hitting up his bank account. He immediately purchased the very first hotel he laid eyes on: The Hilton-Savoy Continental Ritzcracker of France, Paris (not to be confused with Paris, France, which is an entirely different city). Once his grand purchase was complete, Saito hung a giant portrait of himself in the lobby so all the guests could admire him in the beautifully risqué lingerie shoot he did back in 2001. (The popular magazine _Businessmen Gone Wild_ did a giant spread on it. The centerfold featured Saito in a pair of black silk boxers with little Pikachus embroidered on them in gold thread.)

But purchasing a hotel and gracing it with his sexy image was not enough for Saito. He was a perfectionist at heart; a man who simply could not settle for anything less than superb.

"The carpet needs to be changed," Saito decided, glancing disapprovingly into the master suite. "Every last _bit_ of it."

So he hired a crew to pull up the old boring carpet and replace it with a nice, soft shag carpet—though there _was_ some uncertainty on what exactly this entailed. For a long time, most people were confused on whether Saito wanted a carpet made out of dense shag fabric, or a carpet that he could shag. The world may never know.

(Actually, it was both.)

Unfortunately for the residents of the Hilton-Savoy Continental Ritzcracker of France, Paris, a change in carpet meant that every single guest had to evacuate immediately. This didn't sit well with most of the guests, particularly with a certain forger who helped Saito become powerful enough to buy the bloody hotel in the first place.

Eames sighed and glanced around his cluttered room. He was _not_ a light traveler.

Luckily for him, Yusuf and Ariadne also happened to be in France, Paris, since the three of them had been recruited on a job together. Eames called Yusuf first, putting his phone on speaker while he hastily Googled hotel vacancies in the area.

"I need your help getting out of here," Eames explained. "It seems that Saito—Mr. I-Bought-the-Airline _bloody_ Saito—has taken over my hotel and wants my arse on the street by five o' clock."

Yusuf sighed on the other end of the phone. "Damn it, Eames. Indecent exposure again?"

"No, Yusuf, it was _not_ indecent exposure, or any misconduct on my part this time. Saito wants me out of here so he can put in a shag carpet."

"Oh."

There was a lengthy pause.

"Yusuf? You still there?"

"Yes," Yusuf said hesitantly. "I'm just not sure if you're referring to the actual carpeting, or something Saito does in his spare time."

"Both, I would imagine. The Japanese have some _very_ strange fetishes, my friend." Eames scowled at his laptop screen. "Bugger. The entire city of France is booked up. You're renting an apartment, aren't you? Two bedrooms?"

"Well, yes, but I wasn't exactly planning on—"

"Excellent! Give Ariadne a ring, will you, and ask her to get down here? I'm at the Ritzcracker on West Fifty-Seventh South Main Street."

Feeling properly satisfied, Eames hung up on Yusuf. He took a moment to gaze tenderly upon the photo that served as his laptop's background image, then got started on packing his far-too-numerous suitcases. Perhaps he should have thought twice about buying all those zebra-patterned vests the last time he visited Mombasa, but they looked absolutely _spiffing_ with his alligator skin shoes and leopard print socks. Never mind the fact that Arthur would have twelve heart attacks in a row if he could see them.

(Not that Eames ever _thought_ about Arthur. Because he didn't. He had no reason to; certainly not when he had leopard print socks to think about instead. They really were quite sexy. Unlike Arthur.)

At six minutes to five, Yusuf and Ariadne arrived.

"The suitcases are there," said Eames, pointing to the left wall. "Backpacks are on the desk. And as long as neither of you peeks into that jumbo-sized black garbage bag propped against the bed, I won't have to murder you." He then smiled, to let them know he was serious.

"What's in the jumbo-sized black garbage bag?" Ariadne asked, glancing curiously toward the bed.

" _Horrible_ things, my dear. I promise you, you don't want to know."

"Can I ask why there's a photo of Arthur set as your laptop background?" Yusuf asked.

 _Shit_. Eames hastily shut the laptop, trying to keep his cool. And by cool, that meant his ability to be motherfucking _suave_.

"Nonsense, Yusuf. I don't even _like_ Arthur."

"But I could have sworn I saw—"

"Mixing chemicals today, weren't you?" Eames cut in with a sly smile.

"Yes," Yusuf admitted. "I've been tinkering with a couple of new compounds."

"My point exactly. _You_ are clearly high as balls. Now help me heft these suitcases. We've got four bloody minutes—and _no_ peeking into that black bag, if you value your life."

With Yusuf and Ariadne's help, Eames managed to clear out of his room and got everything loaded into Yusuf's rental car. As Yusuf took the wheel, Ariadne sat in the backseat with Eames and casually asked, "Why exactly are you moving in with Yusuf again?"

"Because I have absolutely no control over my life," Yusuf groaned under his breath.

Eames pretended not to hear him. "It's all because Saito—remember him?—saw fit to replace the hotel's boring old carpet with shag carpet."

"Shag carpet?" said Ariadne skeptically. "Isn't that what Saito does in his spare time?"

"It's also a type of carpet, love. Very popular in the seventies. But you're right about Saito. I'm sure when all this remodeling is over, he'll spend many lovely hours shagging the shag carpet."

Yusuf gagged behind the wheel. "I wish I had the chemicals to erase that mental image."

Eames shrugged. "Can't be a worse image than that massive portrait Saito hung in the lobby. Have you seen that thing?"

" _Yes_. And I'll probably see it in my nightmares as well."

"I didn't think it was that bad," said Ariadne. "It takes a very brave man to pose in a pair of Pikachu boxers."

The three of them argued on the subject all the way to Yusuf's apartment. By the time they finally arrived, Eames was thoroughly tired of the rock-hard seats in Yusuf's rental car, and also thoroughly tired of contemplating Saito's rock-hard abs in that lingerie photo. No matter how persistently Ariadne argued, nothing could convince him that anything in that photo was _remotely_ sexy. He had different tastes, after all.

"I'm _sure_ you do," Ariadne informed him, as they all piled out of the car.

Eames didn't like her tone. Or her expression. He checked the jumbo-sized black garbage bag, which had been tied to the roof of the car, but it didn't appear to be tampered with.

Still. He shouldn't have been so bloody _careless_ about the laptop.

He followed a grumbling Yusuf (who seemed _displeased_ , for some reason, about all the suitcases Eames had brought with him) up to the apartment with the garbage bag in his arms. Ariadne followed him, lugging a pair of backpacks stuffed with provisions. Once Eames got settled into the spare bedroom, he made himself comfortable and promptly invited Ariadne to dinner, which _also_ seemed to displease Yusuf. (Which baffled Eames to no end. Wasn't Yusuf the one who had graciously extended his hospitality to Eames in the first place? Silly bugger should have thought twice before getting his knickers all in a twist.)

"Eames, did you scribble A + E on this suitcase?" Ariadne asked, glancing over Eames' luggage while Yusuf was sulkily ordering a pizza.

Eames fought to stay calm as he studied the suitcase in question. "Of course not. Must be the brand name."

"It's a Samsonite," Ariadne pointed out.

"Must be a scratch, then."

"Are you sure?"

"Ariadne, what are you trying to imply here? That I'm madly in love with you and scribble A + E all over my things, hoping that someday you'll fall for my roguish charm?"

She stared at him, completely unruffled. "Not exactly."

"Then do me a favor and leave my things alone, will you? Pizza should be here shortly."

Eames tried very hard not to stomp off in a huff, like a teenage girl, and ended up moodily dragging his black plastic garbage bag into his bedroom to keep it safe from Ariadne's prying eyes. That girl was as bad as what's-her-name from that Greek myth—bloody _Pandora_. Once he was alone in his room, Eames started to untie the bag, then remembered regretfully that pizza was on the way. He couldn't risk spending quality time with his possessions until after dinner.

He heaved the black plastic garbage bag into his arms, settled it gently on top of his bed, and gave it a fond stroke before heading into the kitchen, where Yusuf was huffily ( _exactly_ like a teenage girl) setting the table.

The pizza, when it arrived, ended up being delicious.

"Though not as delicious as a certain person we're all acquainted with. Isn't that right, Eames?" Ariadne asked, sounding perfectly nonchalant as she wiped her hands on a napkin.

Yusuf choked on a mushroom, eyes watering.

"Good Lord, are you going to start _another_ argument on Saito?" Eames demanded. "The man knows how to wear a pair of boxers; I'll give him that. But the day I admit he's sexy is the day pineapples start raining from the sky."

"I wasn't talking about Saito," said Ariadne.

"Fantastic. Then perhaps I can finish my food in peace."

But Ariadne wasn't interested in letting up, and Eames suddenly wondered why he invited her to dinner in the first place.

"Eames," said Ariadne, setting down her half-finished pizza, "why do you have a sex doll that looks exactly like Arthur?"

It was Eames' turn to choke. He coughed for a solid twenty seconds on olives, tomatoes, and melted cheese, until a thump on the back from Yusuf got him breathing again.

"How the bloody fucking _bollocks_ —" Eames began, until he remembered that he was supposed to be cool. Motherfucking _suave_. "I mean, I bought it as a prank," he explained.

"A prank on _who_ , exactly?" asked Yusuf.

"Your mum, for starters."

"You leave my mother out of this! She is a kind, innocent soul!"

"Eames," Ariadne said again, less patiently than before. "I know you told us not to peek inside that jumbo-sized black garbage bag, but I couldn't resist and so here we are. Is there something you need to tell us?"

"Like what?" said Eames. "That I like to purchase sex dolls resembling people I've worked with because it makes a hilarious joke? Because that's the only explanation I'm going to give on the matter."

"But why _Arthur_?"

"Why not Arthur? He's an uptight, unimaginative git with a stick firmly up his arse. He _deserves_ to be put in a humiliating position."

"Humiliating for him, perhaps, but enjoyable for you," Yusuf snickered.

"Don't be a wanker, Yusuf. I would never sully myself with anything that even vaguely resembles Arthur."

"I think you would, though," said Yusuf. "That _was_ his picture on your laptop screen!"

"And you wrote A + E on your suitcase," Ariadne added.

"Arthur and Eames, sitting in a tree!" Yusuf sang. "F-U-C-K-I-N-G!"

"Bloody fucking buggering _hell_ ," Eames groaned, throwing down the remains of his pizza crust. "I _might_ fancy Arthur a bit. But only sometimes. And only when I haven't shagged anyone in a while. Are you insufferable twats happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear from me?"

Ariadne and Yusuf exchanged glances across the table. _Evil_ glances. "Ignoring the fact that everything you said is a complete understatement, yes, that is exactly what we wanted to hear from you," said Ariadne.

"Does this mean you'll bugger off and never mention it again?"

" _Welllll_..." said Yusuf, dragging out the word with an obnoxious gleam in his eyes. "Can I see the doll first? Just once?"

"Whatever the fuck for?"

"For _science_."

Eames got up from the table and shoved his extremely classy paper plate in the trash. "You've already completely ruined my evening. Why not take it a step further?"

He swore he caught Yusuf and Ariadne high-five each other behind his back as he headed for the hall. The smug-faced gits. He couldn't believe that his best-kept secret had been exposed because of a purchase-happy bazillionaire and his shagging carpet. _Shag_ carpet. Whatever. Eames threw open the door to his room and stalked over to the bed, where the jumbo-sized black garbage bag waited.

"Come one, come all, to the event of a lifetime," Eames declared, scowling at Yusuf and Ariadne as he undid the bag's plastic drawstring. "Feast your eyes upon the one-and-only secret I _very_ much wanted to take to my grave."

With a flourish, he ripped open the bag, revealing a life-size, incredibly life-like doll that bore an exact resemblance to Arthur. Despite his annoyance, Eames couldn't help a surge of pride when he looked upon his Arthur replica. He had paid a small fortune on the most expensive model he could find, which resulted in a doll that looked and felt _almost_ like a real human being. He even dressed it in a variety of three-piece suits in seven different colors, with an assortment of ties and pocket squares. It wasn't nearly the same thing as having the _real_ Arthur to shag, of course, but as far as substitutes went, the doll was probably the greatest work of craftsmanship Eames had ever seen.

"Bloody hell, Eames," said Yusuf, gaping at the freshly shined shoes and striped tie that Arthur wore. "This doll is probably the _creepiest_ work of craftsmanship I have ever seen."

Eames' pride went down a notch. "What?"

"It _is_ pretty creepy," Ariadne agreed. "And does he really need so many accessories? I mean, a different suit for every day of the week, Eames? Really?"

"I can't have Arthur wearing the same suit two days in a row," Eames protested. "He would be aghast."

"What about the pen and notebook, Eames? Does a sex doll _really_ need a pen and notebook? Or a razor and a bottle of hair gel? Or a—oh, my God, you've even got a replica of his loaded die!"

"Of _course_ he has a loaded die, Ariadne. He wouldn't be Arthur without it!"

Yusuf dug through the pile of Arthur accessories and held up a slim black toothbrush. "You actually picked out a toothbrush for your sex doll?"

"And pajamas!" cried Ariadne, discovering them beneath the stack of suits. " _Why_ does the doll need pajamas?"

Eames was finding it increasingly difficult to be suave in this situation. "So he has something comfortable to wear after we're done fucking!" he yelled. "What do you think I'm going to do? Tuck him up in bed while he's wearing a three-piece suit? It will wrinkle!"

Ariadne and Yusuf both stared at Eames with frozen, deer-in-the-headlights expressions.

Yusuf dared to speak first. "You actually tuck the doll into bed and _sleep_ with it?"

"Is that a crime, Yusuf?"

"No, it's just... unusual. _Very_ unusual."

"Not just unusual," said Ariadne. "This is downright _serious_ , Eames. You need to face the fact that you—"

"Yes, yes, I know," said Eames. "I need to be thrown in the loony bin."

"Actually, I was going to say you're in love."

Yusuf nodded in agreement. "You definitely are."

Eames sank down onto his bed with a sigh. The Arthur doll lay beside him, one of his perfectly sculpted hands reaching for Eames' leg. "So what if I am? You know how it is with me and Arthur. I'm nothing but a bloody nuisance to him, always picking at his flaws and shoving him off his chair. He doesn't have the foggiest idea how I feel and he probably never will."

Ariadne raised an eyebrow at him. "When have you ever tried talking to Arthur without antagonizing him?"

"Probably... never?"

"Then _how_ is he supposed to know how you feel? Instead of building up this elaborate fantasy land with your creepy sex doll, maybe you should work on your relationship with the _real_ Arthur!"

That actually sounded like a surprisingly sane idea. But Eames wasn't ready to admit that, of course. He was bloody _proud_ of his elaborate fantasy. (Not to mention the small fortune it cost him. He would hate to see all that money go down the toilet.)

"Easier said than done, Ariadne," said Eames. "Now would you both excuse me? I have a _very_ attractive doll here that's positively begging to get shagged."

"Say no more," said Yusuf. "We'll be more than happy to give you and Fake Arthur your privacy—but _first_ , I need a picture!" He immediately whipped out his phone and snapped an incriminating photo of the sex doll. "Just in case I ever need to blackmail you."

"Have fun!" Ariadne called out as she and Yusuf headed for the door. "Don't forget to use a condom!"

* * *

Eames _did_ have a great deal of fun with the Arthur doll. It might have felt a tad more pathetic than usual, now that his secret was out, but he was determined to enjoy himself. It helped that the doll had a perfectly shaped arse that gave _just_ the right amount of softness when he put his hand upon it. Having grabbed the real Arthur's arse on more than one occasion (as a joke, of course), Eames knew that the doll was incredibly true to life.

After he shagged the doll into an imaginary state of exhaustion, Eames folded all the perfectly crisp clothes that lay scattered about the room, and dressed Arthur in his pajamas. They were sexy black pajamas with gray pinstripes and a pocket on the breast. (And also true to life. According to Cobb, the real Arthur had the exact same pair.)

"Goodnight, darling," Eames said, shutting out the light.

He got into bed next to the Arthur doll, tucked the loaded die into his breast pocket (Arthur couldn't sleep without his totem), and proceeded to have a series of pleasant dreams, all of them featuring Arthur. Eames _always_ dreamed about Arthur. He also had a habit of dreaming about a herd of goats, but that was quite all right because Arthur often appeared as a goat herder or a zookeeper, and they had many goat-related adventures together that usually ended in shagging.

Tonight he dreamed about the day he and Arthur first met.

The first time Eames ever met Arthur, he made a complete arse of himself.

It cast a very nasty blot on his reputation as a charmer. Eames simply did _not_ make an arse of himself. He was fucking _suave_ , with an accent that had charmed the knickers off of countless women, along with the occasional bloke, since Eames was open-minded when it came to charming knickers off of people.

But then there was Arthur, looking outrageously tidy in a three-piece suit, shaking Eames' hand after Cobb made the introductions, and Eames detected something coldly _efficient_ about him. Like a machine—or an android. Fucking _Blade Runner_ vibes were going up Eames' spine when Arthur gave him the obligatory once-over, assessing him and probably analyzing him with his data-filled robot brain.

Not that Arthur _was_ a bloody robot. But something about him knocked Eames off-center, and for once in his life Eames did not feel suave.

He didn't feel sane, for that matter, because the first thing that came out of his mouth was, "You have an absolutely breathtaking heinie."

Arthur raised a perfect black eyebrow at him. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, that thing is good," Eames continued. "I want to be friends with it."

Arthur stared, jaw going slack, which at least proved he wasn't an android. "Mr. Eames, I would ask you to explain yourself, but I'm not sure if I want to know."

"It's from _Anchorman_. Bloody hilarious. Haven't you seen that film?"

Arthur's hands twitched, as if longing to wrap themselves around Eames' windpipe like a python and squeeze the life out of him. "I think Will Ferrell is overrated," Arthur informed him, before he stalked away in his neat and tidy suit.

Eames watched him leave and decided that Arthur was boring.

He also decided he might be in love.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the master suite of the Hilton-Savoy Continental Ritzcracker, Saito was enjoying the brand-new shag carpet he had installed. Most people would claim he was enjoying the carpet a _little_ too much, but Saito was a wealthy motherfucker who had the means to do whatever he wanted—literally.

Soft candlelight filled the master suite. Saito had turned the lights down low and ordered the hotel bar's most expensive wine. Kool & The Gang's "Jungle Boogie" blared from the stereo.

_Get down, get down_  
_Get down, get down_

"Oh, carpet," Saito purred, while his embroidered Pikachu boxers lay draped over a chair. "You are an _animal_."

* * *

When Eames awoke the next day, he bid good morning to the Arthur doll. He then showered with the doll, helped him brush his teeth, and dressed him in a snappy blue suit with a dotted gray tie and matching gray pocket square.

Since the secret was out, he figured he might as well go all the way and take Arthur to breakfast with him, too. He situated Arthur at the kitchen table, gave his shoulder a fond squeeze, and got to work making bacon and eggs. Yusuf appeared a minute later, tousle-headed and sleepy-eyed, until he spotted the doll and started sputtering.

"What the—Holy _shit_ , Eames. Do you really have to prop that thing up at the table?"

"That _thing_ has a name," Eames informed him over the stove.

"I am not addressing the doll as Arthur. It's too creepy. This entire _situation_ is creepy! Can't you take Ariadne's advice and talk to the real Arthur?"

"When I'm good and ready, Yusuf. How do you like your eggs?"

"Shoved up your arse," Yusuf said snootily. "I'm going out to the diner down the street, to eat among _humans_."

"That leaves more for me and you, darling," Eames told Arthur, after Yusuf took off and slammed the door in a huff.

Yusuf took his time returning from the diner, so Eames saw the opportunity for an after-breakfast shag on the kitchen table. (He washed the table down afterwards, of course. He wasn't a complete savage.) Afterwards, he settled Arthur in Yusuf's favorite armchair with a nice book and decided to check his phone. It had been a while since he refreshed his inbox.

To Eames' complete terror and delight, he discovered the _real_ Arthur had texted him.

**Arthur**  
**5:21 AM**  
_Right now I'm contemplating the best way to murder you._

Ahh, good old Arthur. Always ready with a sharp-tongued quip. Also, what kind of cold-blooded bastard gets up at five in the bloody morning?

Eames was grinning like a fool as he texted back.

**Eames**  
**9:55 AM**  
_wake up on the wrong side of the bed did u? or maybe the wrong bed alltogether? (wink)_

**Arthur**  
**9:58 AM**  
_Woke up in the right bed, thank you very much. And I'm pretty sure I still want to murder you._

**Eames**  
**9:59 AM**  
_whatever for?_

**Arthur**  
**10:01 AM**  
[PHOTO ATTACHED]  
_Care to explain THIS?_

"Oh, shit," Eames exclaimed, gaping at the image on his phone. "Great buggering piles of _shit_!"

Yusuf chose that moment to conveniently enter the apartment.

" _You!_ " Eames bellowed, pointing an accusing finger at Yusuf. "I cannot believe your treachery, Yusuf. You are the wankiest wanker that ever wanked on the face of wankerton!"

Yusuf stared, wide-eyed. "I'm terribly... sorry?"

"Sorry doesn't even begin to scratch the _surface_ of what you've done!"

"Which is what, exactly? What did I do?"

"Came down with amnesia, apparently. Don't you remember taking a picture of the Arthur doll last night?"

"Yes," Yusuf admitted.

"Then surely you can explain how the _real_ Arthur ended up with that same picture!"

Yusuf looked dumbfounded. "I didn't send any pictures to Arthur! I would never—" But an idea suddenly dawned on him. " _Ohhhh_ , shit. It must have been Ariadne. She wanted a copy of the picture and asked me for it _really_ nicely, so I sent it to her. And she must have forwarded it to Arthur."

"Fucking brilliant, Yusuf," said Eames. "Arthur knows about the doll now! He says he wants to _murder_ me. The moment we come face-to-face, he's going to pound the hell out of me, and _not_ in the good way!"

"I really need a chemical that can erase mental images," Yusuf muttered.

Eames went back to his phone and tried to figure out how he could possibly respond to Arthur. When his fingers failed to type out an adequate reply, he figured he would call instead. Arthur was going to shout at him regardless. Better to have it over with now, while the two of them were miles apart from each other.

Arthur answered the phone with crisp, cold precision. "Hello, Mr. Eames." He sounded like he had a lead pipe up his arse.

"Hello, Arthur," Eames said breezily. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"It would be, if I hadn't discovered that there are sex toys created in my image."

"Only _one_ sex toy, I would hope."

"So you admit that's your sex doll, Eames?"

"I do admit it," said Eames. "And I won't deny that I have fucked that doll, Arthur. I have fucked it hard."

"And I think I've heard enough," said Arthur. "Goodbye, Mr. Eames."

"Hold on!" cried Eames. "Let me explain."

"Haven't you explained yourself already? For some perverse reason, you've decided to use my image to satisfy your sexual needs. What else can be said?"

"Plenty, Arthur. Plenty more can be said. Because you know what? It's not just sex for me. You should see all the outfits I have meticulously chosen for that doll, color-coordinated exactly how you would like it. I bought a pair of bloody pajamas so I can tuck it up in bed with me! Every fucking night I _sleep_ next to that doll, Arthur. I prop it up at the breakfast table and tell it good morning. And if you can't figure out what any of that means, _then_ we have nothing more to say to each other."

Eames held his breath and waited. Arthur took an excruciatingly long time to respond.

"Clearly it means you're a gigantic creep with too much time and money on your hands," said Arthur.

_Bugger._

"But I _am_ relieved that you've taken care to dress the thing appropriately," Arthur continued. "And while we're on the subject of secrets, I might as well reveal one of mine. Check your texts."

Eames checked his phone.

 **Arthur**  
**10:20 AM**  
[PHOTO ATTACHED]  
_I've had this set as my laptop background for the last six months._

It was a shirtless picture of Eames. A _really_ good one.

**Arthur**  
**10:20 AM**  
_It's my phone wallpaper too._

"Does this mean what I think it does?" said Eames, resuming their phone conversation.

"It means you can destroy that stupid sex doll," said Arthur. "I'm only a couple of hours from France, Paris. I think you and I have a few things we need to talk about—in person."

Eames hung up the phone with a satisfied grin. "Bloody hell. I _love_ shag carpet."

"Saito's going to be jealous," Yusuf pointed out.

"Shut it, Yusuf. And do us all a favor and burn that stupid sex doll."

**Author's Note:**

> The sex doll idea was inspired by an episode of _It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia_. The rest of the story was inspired by possible insanity.


End file.
